To The Stars
by Gosangoku
Summary: Who am I? My name... is of no significance. But my story is. Will you listen? The year is 2099. After Earth was destroyed by a genetically-enhanced race, human DNA was subtracted to create slaves... but it didn't go as planned. — US/UK.
1. IMPORTANT

Sorry to fuel disappointment, but this is just an author's note. I know, I know, I'm a tease.

This is just a quick note to inform you that I'm going to start this story again because, reading over it, I loathe who I wrote it before. It will possess the same plot for the most part, but I just want to rewrite it to give it a more sophisticated style, and I have to add little hints and things in because I have an adoration for symbolism and hidden meaning.

So, as you pelt me with tomatoes, I apologise once more and hope to have the new first chapter up soon!

Also, I thought that the backwards Abeo language was too simplistic and dull, so I'm making a new one. XD I'm not sure if I'll somehow make it scientific or just play with letters again, but it's not very important.

Anyway, please be patient, and thank you for waiting! *_bows_!*


	2. o1: andromeda

**o1: **_**andromeda**_

_**axis powers hetalia**_

**{ **_g o s a n g o k u _**}**

**x.**

_**Chapter summary**_**: Allow me to introduce you to our two leading protagonists - Alfred F. Jones, self-proclaimed fighter pilot, and Arthur Kirkland, captain of a space pirate ship. Arthur's been identified as a criminal by the Optimus Empire and Alfred's made it his job to ensure that justice is brought to the universe**

_**Chapter rating**_**: T**

_**Chapter warnings**_**: violence, language.**

**x.**

"The unreal is more powerful than the real, because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it. because its only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well, they die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on."

- Chuck Palahniuk****

x.

_Who am I? My name... is of no significance. But my story is. Will you listen?_

_It is currently the year 2099. Earth had long ago been destroyed after being conquered by a race unbeknownst to man. Were they aliens? Something of the sort. I thought so; I'd always believed in aliens. However, they weren't green with tentacles or anything that they had been portrayed as in cartoons. They looked like humans. They acted like humans. They practically _were_ humans. That is... aside from being genetically enhanced, and eventually enslaving the human race, causing great pain and suffering, only to end it by destroying the planet they had thrived on._

Me? I'm a good guy. I'm gonna save whatever human life is left and destroy these evil creatures that had caused such grievous and terrible anguish and pain and suffering.

_I am a pilot. That doesn't make much sense to you, does it? Earth has been blown up, the human race is dead... How can this person be a pilot? Well, you'd know me as a spaceman. But we no longer need those fancy suits and whatnot; after the destruction of planet Earth, no normal human beings existed. The 'aliens' who had caused the Earth's destruction, however, found it fitting to create similar beings to become their slaves. That's where me and my crew come in._

I was created.

_But something went wrong in their experiment. Whilst structuring DNA and cells and stuff, their ship was attacked. Being shot at with missiles and canons and SX-D 900s—not a weapon from your time, but they're basically massive machine guns that launch enhanced missiles; the molecules inside of the missiles eat away at whatever it hits—the ship was in disarray, the circuits combusted and electricity ate up their main frame and viruses were downloaded into their systems. Me and other 'humans' that were created were wired up to the mainframe and thus were affected by the virus. Like I said, no _normal_ humans alive anymore. Just me, my crew, and the ones I'm rounding up._

_Right, right! I haven't told you my plan! See, since we're also kinda genetically enhanced by the virus, we managed to overthrow the aliens and steal their ship. Wasn't easy, lemme tell you; the ship was _wrecked_. Makes you wonder what the hell they did to get that much hatred directed towards them, eh? Anyway, I digress._

Some of the 'humans' created along with me were previously abducted by the enemies that had attacked the ship. After me and some other guys took the ship from the aliens, we just kinda sped off away from the milky way and towards optimus—yeah, you wouldn't know about this, again not from your time, but no worries!—but a while later, there were attacks broadcasted to our TVs, laptops, iMegas (I'm sure you can guess where these babies derived from!) and even the systems on our ship; the remaining planets were being attacked. Now, when Earth was destroyed, you'd exptect there to be an effect on the entire universe, right? Wrong. Planets were realigned, and Mercury and Venus's temparatures increased rapidly. I'm kinda surprised they didn't, like, spontaneously combust or something. But anyway, me and my crew set out to remedy these attacks.

_Why?_

_Well, that's pretty obvious. It's 'cause I'm a hero!_

x.

He hadn't slept.

The memory of those luminescent emerald eyes appeared in his mind every time he closed his eyes, and he lurched awake. They seemed oddly familiar somehow, but he was sure he must have been imagining it. However, he just couldn't shake the strange feeling that he had seen then once before, long ago. Besides, only people like him had eyes that shone like his did, but surely those comparable to himself would be on his side, wouldn't they?

Alfred F. Jones, self-proclaimed ace fighter pilot, was a genetically enhanced "human" created nineteen years ago. Due to his skills with mechanics and science along with his heroic pursuit of justice, he found himself making his own career in saving galaxies from potential threats. He and his team mates—well, he called them his "sidekicks" before but got hell for it, so now he only referred to them as such in private—resided at a pub run by one of their kind. He was a Cuban man who went by the name of Ricardo with glinting brown eyes, just like the rest of the genetically modified humans. He was more of a repairman for Alfred and his team mates. He didn't normally accompany them on their journeys, preferring to remain at the pub and send information virtually.

It wasn't the most prestigious of places. Honestly, Alfred would have preferred a more modern location to form his base, but he couldn't complain. He made his money—or credits, as finance was referred to nowadays in its universal form—on missions that came through to _Absconditas_, the pub, but most of those were fairly low-brow experiences that didn't provide much action or, as a result, credits. Normally it would be ridding some unfortunate soul of alien pests—the main 'pests' being organisms that ranged from miniscule bacterium that infiltrated aliens's immune systems and attacked them from there, or huge scale amoeba. Often, Alfred caught the creepy things and returned them for examination. Despite his rambunctious behaviour, he was intelligent. He excelled in science and had developed a few antidotes and cures of diseases that plagued certain galaxies. He couldn't help but think he would have been a scientist on Earth...

Of course, that would be impossible now. The Milky Way galaxy in which Earth was contained was virtually deserted, save for aliens who scoured it for any human remains. It was a fairly restricted area that not many ventured into, although it wasn't of a high threat. Alfred had once travelled there to take a look around Earth, where he had... well, he wasn't born there. He'd never been born, he'd been created from DNA extracted from people on that planet. Even so, it still felt... it still felt like home. An empty home.

When he was younger, he vowed to repopulate the Earth with more people like him—the closest species to humans there were. As he grew, however, he realised that it would be impossible. He wasn't even sure if he could procreate, and he didn't even really fancy the idea either. He had kissed a few alien girls fleetingly, mostly during moments on intoxication after the euphoric success or rueful failure of a mission, and he had even touched the lips of a woman who was one of him. But it hadn't felt _right_. Not to mention, he had been vaguely pissed off after the girl he had kissed slapped him and stormed off, boarding another ship and disappearing into the blackness of some other galaxy.

Still, even though those dreams were tarnished, he was still hopeful. An optimist by nature, he aspired to bring all who were like him together to... to do _something_, even if he didn't know what. He hadn't counted on the possibility that, just because there were people of his race, they wouldn't be the same as him. Obviously, a report from yesterday had displayed that openly as it presented the profile of a man with blinding acidic green eyes, out of date clothing, and a weapon in his hand that Alfred didn't recognise.

As always, he returned to the pub from another mission—a fluke, so no money there—and rushed to the News Generator, unlocked the Individual Listener mode, and skimmed through new reports, only to stumble across one that actually caught his interest. It lacked a headline, which alerted him immediately, because these days the articles without headlines meant danger.

The virtual article increased in size and he skimmed over it before a robotic voice chimed in with: "Name of criminal: unknown. Age of criminal: unknown. Appears to be twenty. Ship of criminal: F43RY 007. A man with green eyes, blond hair, height of five feet and nine inches—with his boots—clad in attire that was fashionable on Earth during the eighteenth century, primarily worn by sea adventurers. Known to have a crew but no other members have been identified." Alfred's brows knitted together as the information slowly delved into inaccurate references to historical Earth. Matthew was a historian of sorts, and he knew more than these robotic devices did about Earth dating far back, so he could inform Matthew of this later to get better and more precise knowledge of it. Until then, he skipped the unnecessary and inaccurate facts to get to the heart of the article. "The ship F43RY 007 has been spotted in several galaxies, firing at ships of Acerbitus and Adaugo, allies to the rising Optimus Empire. They have taken down two ships of Acerbitus and five of Adaugo. Their aims are presently unknown. This could be the rise of rebel ships..."

Then the androgynous voice drifted off until it became only a faint buzzing in Alfred's ears. He remained transfixed on the glowing emerald eyes that he somehow couldn't look away from. Acidic, he would describe them as, but not toxic. They almost reminded him of unsaturated hues of forest green and he could just _picture_ the neverending foliage of gardens that were rare in present days. And yet, despite their comparison to plants, they somehow reminded Alfred of the sea. Normally, blue would the colour one would associate with torrents of salt water, but these green eyes were stormy and soothing. Then, you did mix yellow and blue to make green.

When the article began to repeat from the start, he had realised he'd been fixated upon the depths of emerald for far too long. He tore his own eyes away and allowed the monitor to turn off, and then he had returned to the bar and drank down whatever concoction Ricardo had placed before him. Matthew was skimming through a book—a language one that he'd been obsessed with for a while. Abeo or something of the sort. Languages had never been Alfred's forté, so he left it up to Alfred to decipher codes and scriptures and languages that weren't English.

Since he had seen that article, he couldn't get those glinting green eyes off of his mind. It was weird, he thought, since he'd never concentrated on anyone long enough to even notice what colour their eyes were. He barely registered their gender, which lead him to believe he was asexual. He really wasn't interesting in pursuing romantic relationships - even platonic ones left him baffled. Matthew had once just laughed and smirked and said, "Perhaps it isn't that you're asexual, Alfred. I think it may be because you're oblivious and emotionally detached."

They'd argued, as they always did, just like siblings, but Alfred had been contemplating the other man's words ever since. What he couldn't fathom, however, was why he had begun musing over feelings after reading that article. He came to the uncertain conclusion that it was because he was finally intrigued by something instead of going along with it for the credits involved. But, as he always did whenever it came to questioning his emotions, Alfred decided not to think about it and banished it to the back of his mind. Heaving a tired yawn after his relatively sleepless night, he stood, not caring about his rumpled clothes, and headed downstairs. He was greeted by the scent of smoke drifting through his nostrils thanks to Ricardo's cigar, the bitter smell of alcohol that always lingered, and strange spices that he never really bothered to identify.

"Yo, Mattie, Ricardo." He offered a blinding grin and only received blank stares in response. He gave a mock pout and sidled onto a stool. "Really, no appreciation whatsoever," he complained remorsefully.

"Heracles is coming by later," Ricardo muttered, sliding a mug of coffee in front of the man with American genetics.

The blond hummed gratefully as he sipped the hot substance, showing his satisfaction with a sigh. "Is he?" he murmured, raising a brow. "I haven't seen him since he disappeared chasing after Sadiq." His face contorted into a deep scowl of irritation. "Seriously, they're so annoying. They're on my team but they're always fighting and always go off to fuck knows where to kick each other's butts."

"Perhaps you should have thought before inviting two people you never met to join you on your questionable quests throughout the universe," Matthew mumbled, tone light and seemingly distracted as he read over something or other, but Alfred knew that his passive aggressive friend was inadvertently insulting him. "And maybe they should have thought before agreeing to travel with an adrenaline junkie who can't get enough of violence and disgusting food." He paused. "Coffee is revolting too."

Alfred rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, Ricardo barked a laugh. "I still remember the day you guys staggered in here," he said. "Bruised and covered in oil after an explosion. Speaking of which, that's how you arrived here, isn't it?" he mused.

Matthew sighed, the sound a mixture of irritation and remorse. Really, Alfred never understood the guy. They may have looked similar, but they could not be more different. "Yes," the Canadian muttered, "We made it here in a capsule with Francis. Of course, we'd be too big to fit in with him now."

"I wouldn't want to," Alfred said, sticking his tongue out. "Man's a pervert. I guess I should be thankful that he's more interested in you, Mattie." His friend bestowed him with a dark glare, and he decided to stop teasing him. "Speaking of that weirdo, where is he?"

"_Francis_," Matthew stressed primly, defensive of the man, "is still on a mission. Don't you remember? He left two days ago. Something about amoeba lurking in somebody's garden." He shut his book, obviously having given up on reading with all the distractions. "He should be back this evening."

"About missions!" the American suddenly exclaimed, prompting Matthew to raise a brow at his sudden enthusiasm. "I was listening to one the other day—a new one. It's way more interesting than these boring amoeba and bacteria we get so often," he added excitedly, grinning wickedly. "Besides, they're hardly helping anymore—my experiments all turn out the same way 'cause they're always the same _types_ since we never get outta this galaxy." He turned to his friends, eyes darkening as he grew more serious, and leaned forwards, voice now its regular baritone as it was when he wasn't fooling around. When he gained the attention of his friends, he reiterated what he had been informed of in the article—of the ship, F43RY 007, attacking ships allied with the rising empire's and of the man with simmering green eyes.

**x.**

The ground shuddered and the ship tilted precipitously, and the crew almost feared it would twist completely. Thankfully, however, it sped along at its strange angle, still shaking slightly, tremours running through the strong ship, but it never faltered. There was another bang that sounded from behind them in the distance but a torpedo missed their ship by several inches.

"Cuttin' it close, Captain!" Gilbert shouted, primarily amused by the entire affair as opposed to concerned. This had occurred many a time and he knew that his captain was practiced and skilled enough to get them out of this mess.

"Belt up, Gilbert!" the man addressed returned angrily, eyes glinting in ferocity, but they were soon torn away from the albino's form to fix upon an ominous glow in the distance. Letting out a string of curses that his crew couldn't understand, he twisted the wheel furiously until the ship practically dived downwards. More torpedos and shot past them—fuelled by forces that the captain of the ship, when small, had considered supernatural until he learnt of their technological explanations—narrowly avoiding them thanks to the sudden drop and altitude. "Lili, take the wheel," he ordered, leaping away from it and drawing his weapons as a petite girl easily climbed over to the wheel, swerving it away from another sudden attack. "Kiku, you'll be accompanying me."

"Yes, Arthur-taichou," a Japanese man agreed, monotonous eyes glinting as he unseathed his blade.

Arthur grabbed one of the many overhanging ropes that fell from the sails above. They didn't work due to the lack of oxygen in space, but were there for convenience. The ships that had been following them came into view, closer, and Arthur could see the pawns regenerating the ammo expulsion machines. As the ship approached, its speed increasing, Arthur gripped the rope and leapt over to it, landing perfectly on its metal roof. Immediately, he raised his gun and embedded a bullet into an alien man's chest, uncaring as he knocked another one unconscious and then sent the others into a bloodied heap.

Kiku followed soon after, sparing a few precious moments to order Gilbert to set up their bigger guns. He landed beside Arthur, footsteps silent, and they exchanged a nod before slipping through to the inner ship. Chrome everywhere—metallic surfaces and weapons attached to the walls, as was policy for the ships serving under Optimus. The doors slid open automatically as they rushed past them, lifting their guns and blades upon passing each one, just in case anyone was waiting to ambush them on the other side.

They paused before a larger door, still baffled after getting so far with little disruption. Minions had been on the outer deck of the ship, fuelling canon-like creations, but other than that the ship had been deserted. Eyes widening in realisation, he turned to Kiku. "You don't suppose...?" he began, and the Japanese man pursed his lips.

"It is a definite possibility," he murmured in agreement. "Many of these ships have been recently..."

Green eyes narrowing in fury and annoyance, he kicked at the door. It fell away to reveal another chamber, empty save for a lacklustre generator—one of the default ones that the Optimus Empire bestowed upon the ships of its unnecessary pawns.

"Hsrg," he spat, Abeo tasting foreign on his lips. He sneered at the language and shook his head, loathing that it was ingrained within his mind. "Let's get off this ship before we go up in flames with it," he said, and Kiku nodded.

They dashed back through the chrome corridors of the creaking ship, every shudder of it suggesting that it was either attacking F43RY 007 or vice versa. Either way, they had to get off. They knew that they only had some time left; this was one of the sacrificial ships. One of many which were sent out to capture criminals like them.

There was a sudden loud explosion that left the ship reeling. Arthur and Kiku were sent flying into a wall, but they gritted their teeth, pushed themselves off, and continued to dash through the shaking ship. They reached the front of it in record speed, accustomed to swift dashes thanks to training, and slid through the door. Arthur raised his gun and shot a man who stood when they had reappeared. _I should learn to stop leaving them unconscious. I should know by now that they have to die_, he thought, sternly reprimanding himself. He stared at the compilation of several dead alien bodies and heaved a sigh. _Remorse is a weakness._

"Grab the rope, guys!" Elizaveta shouted, their navigator tossing the aforementioned item towards them. Arthur leaned over the edge of the ship and grabbed it, then extended a hand to Kiku. The shorter man also latched onto the rope and as soon as he did so, they kicked off of the ship and were tugged hastily up to their own, just as the one they had been in ruptured and waves of black flames were expelled into the atmosphere. The explosion sent them flying faster towards their ship, but one of the black wisps tied around Kiku's leg.

"Kuso!" he hissed as a sudden tug yanked him down the rope.

"Kiku!" Arthur yelled, removing one hand from the rope to grab one of Kiku's. He glanced over the Japanese man and cursed. "Hold on to me, all right?" he demanded, and as soon as his friend latched an arm around his waist, he brought out one of his guns, flicked a switch, pulled the trigger—no sound or sight emerged from it, but Kiku was well aware of it. It was a gun Arthur himself had created, and also one that only the Englishman had the abilities of utilising properly; the aesthetics of it were visible solely to him for reasons he didn't often explain to others as he wasn't normally believed. But it was effective—the black shadow flames recoiled before dissipating into nothing, and they were suddenly yanked up onto the deck of their ship.

Immediately, Elizaveta rushed over to them. Lili glanced back but dared not leave her post, still wary of being followed. She continued guiding the ship swiftly through the atmosphere, hoping to escape this galaxy before they could be detected again.

"Are you all right, Kiku?" the brunette woman enquired worriedly, lifting the Japanese man's clothes to expose his skin. There was a thin line of black around it which they initially thought to be dirt.

"I will clean it up later," he murmured, blinking rapidly as a sudden light-headed feeling overwhelmed him.

"Until then, you should take a rest," Arthur advised, emerald eyes glimmering before he turned away. Kiku sighed. He knew that his captain would be blaming himself for what had happened. He always did, even if he denied it. _His tsundere behaviour is very cute, but I do not want him to dislike himself._ "Elizaveta, please escort him to his room, just in case," he murmured quietly, and then rose to approach the girl at the wheel. "Lili, what are our co-ordinates?"

**x.**

"That's probably cold by now, Alfred," Ricardo murmured quietly as he appraised the unusually silent man before him. Marine blue depths rose and the Cuban man was astonished by the smouldering intensity lingering within them, but as soon as he saw it, it was gone, replaced by the impish grin.

"Right, my bad," Alfred said, laughing sheepishly. "Guess I just got caught up in my thoughts. This mission is gonna be pretty exciting."

Ricardo snorted and took the nineteen year old's cold coffee, discarding it and producing a hot mug. "Make sure you don't waste it," he muttered. "You ain't getting these drinks for free and you do have a tab, remember."

"Aw, man," the American groaned. "Can ya let me off? I do live here, after all. We're like family—"

"Don't gimme that shit," the Cuban snapped, glaring down at the younger man. "I might get along with Matthew, but that doesn't mean I like you. Even if you do have an uncanny resemblance..."

"Unfortunately," the Canadian put in as he descended from the stairs, not looking up from his paper.

"You should be proud to look like me, Mattie!" Alfred offered with a blinding grin, scowling when his unbiological counterpart scoffed.

"All it does is get me in trouble," he mumbled, sighing when he realised that neither Alfred or Ricardo had acknowledged his statement. "Anyway, I'd been thinking about what you told us earlier. About that green-eyed man," he said, and instantly blue eyes were pinned on him.

"Did you get some info?" he enquired, his previously childish demeanour evaporating to reveal the man capable of maturity beneath. _If only he was serious more often. Life would be less troublesome_, thought the Canadian with another sigh.

"You only told me a few hours ago, so I've not got much," he warned, not wanting to get his friend's hopes up. He seemed so invested in this new case. He couldn't blame the guy, he supposed—this was one of the most intriguing things they had encountered for a long while.

"But you're great at getting stuff," Alfred said, confident in Matthew's abilities. "You find information like that," he added with a snap of his fingers. He grinned when Matthew quirked a small smile.

"I found out that he _does_ have a crew. Five others. I'm not sure of their names or positions, but there are five of them. Since we don't know the captain's name, I got next to nothing on him," he murmured regretfully, sighing in frustration. "But earlier when I was listening to my iMega, their ship was mentioned. Apparently they attacked another allied ship of the Optimus Empire." He paused, looking conflicted for a moment.

"Go on?" Alfred prompted, noticing the reluctance his friend displayed.

The Canadian sighed again, running a hand through his hair. "On the news, they said that it was a high ranked ship and that they ruthlessly murdered all of its inhabitants." He bit his lip, fists clenching in his lap. "But... they broadcast it—there must have been another ship around that recorded the event—and it really didn't sound like F43RY 007 had provoked the attack. Moreover, by the sounds of the ships... Well, I'm no expert on them, but from what Ricardo's told me, I don't think it was one of the high ranked ones." He lifted his pale lavender iMega and slid it over the bar. "I recorded it so you can listen and give your opinion," he explained and then turned to Alfred again, frowning deeply. "If it isn't a high ranked ship and these 'criminals' hadn't initiated the attack... then the reporters must have lied for some reason."

Alfred's brow was creased, deep in thought. If what Matthew was saying was true, then... well, why would they need to lie about the attack? What would they want to gain from it? A million questions swirled through his mind, all blending into one until all he could think of was the man that provoked the entire investigation in the first place. He wondered what he had felt during the confrontation. He wondered if he even had emotions since the media seemed to portray him as ruthless. But he was like Alfred and Matthew and Ricardo—he was one of their kind...

Before he could muse further, there was the sound of engines cutting off outside. The three glanced up at the door as voices raised and the door flew open to reveal a brunet man grumbling angrily at a smirking man in a mask.

"Fuck, Heracles," the taller of the two said, laughing boisterously, "for such a lazy guy, you sure know how to get into trouble."

Turquoise eyes narrowed into slits that were oddly reminiscent of feline creatures of the old world. "It was your own fault," he hissed, sliding away from the man as if being near him made him feel sick. "I wouldn't have had to punch you if you hadn't—"

"Ricardo!" the masked man exclaimed suddenly, cutting off the other man and approaching the bar with a bright grin. "It's been a while!" He turned to the two blond guys and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry I took off like that before with Heracles," he apologised, and then offered some pathetic excuses that focused the blame on the Greek man until his air supply was cut off by a tanned arm constricting his neck.

"Shut up," whispered Heracles, and then he shoved the Turkish man and moved to sit beside Matthew, murmuring a quiet thank you as he languidly sipped at a drink Ricardo handed to him. He offered the Canadian a tired smile, exchanging pleasantries before enquiring about what had been happening after their brief disappearance, a far cry to his previous antagonistic attitude.

As the pub was filled with mindless chatter and phatic talk, Alfred couldn't help but allow his mind to drift to thoughts of that infamous captain...

**x.**

_How strange_, Kiku thought, brows drawing together in concentration as he sat up and the world seemed to pulse and blend together. It looked like the wooden floor beneath his feet was water. He knew it wasn't, but everything seemed to be melting. Swallowing, he stood, only for dizziness to rush over him. He staggered and fell against a wall, finding it difficult to breathe. _Could this be shell shock? _he wondered, still logical despite the force that was silently pushing him downwards. _But I have not been affected by such feelings before... _He swallowed, a low growl slipping through his lips as his anger at his curious weakness grew.

Steeling himself, he took another step forwards, only for his legs to give out beneath him. He dragged himself back over to his bed, only to pause when he caught a flash of black. Freezing as a foreboding feeling came over him, he pulled him his trouser leg, suddenly feeling sick when he saw that the pale skin of his calf was engulfed in ebony, the darkness from before having spread of a sprinkling of ash-like substance to what appeared to be an oily bruise.

"Kiku?" he heard someone call, but he couldn't seem to find his voice. "Kiku, Lili made food. I tried to, but..." Arthur trailed off and were Kiku in an appropriate state, he would have been amused by the agitation that accompanied his captain's tone and the pout he knew he would be wearing. As it was, he was still unable to take his eyes off of the black skin encompassing his leg.

Arthur's voice grew more distant even though the Japanese man knew he was close to his room. He fell back against the bed, still gazing absently at his leg as the rest of his vision grew to match the dark flesh.

"Kiku, are you—? Kiku!"

**x.**

_You wouldn't have heard of me. Not me personally, anyway. I was known as England, as I am basically compiled of cells from the ex-country from where my name is derived. Now, however, I call myself Arthur Kirkland to escape the confines of my previous name._

I do not have parents or siblings or any real family at all. But really, who does in this day and age? When Earth was destroyed, practically everyone died. Humans? They're extinct. But the people I travel with... I call them my family. Not that I'd ever tell them that. Although we do not always see eye to eye or get along very well, we look out for each other and... we ease each other's loneliness.

At least, we try to. I've always been lonely. When I was created by the aliens—_whom, by the way, just to increase confusion, look very similar to us, just with different eyes; worn and dark and practically unseeing_—_there were several others like me. We disagreed a lot, but got along to an extent. We had to, being the only ones of our kind, outnumbered by galaxies upon galaxies of aliens. I escaped one day. With some wanker by the name of France. He was the most irritating man I'd ever had the displeasure of meeting. But... we helped each other escape. Only... we took recently created 'humans' with us. They were relatively young. They're probably nineteen or twenty by now. But before I could escape, the aliens caught up. I shoved the frog into a capsule along with the younger ones and then lead the aliens elsewhere._

They better have got away safely. The ones like me. I had to stay with those alien bastards for another few years before I could escape again. But I made it. I made it and I found others like me and aided them also. They're a part of my crew now. But I didn't save of them. I don't think of it that way. They just achieved their freedom. As much of it as possible anyway. We stuck together. However, I...

_I'm selfish. So very, very selfish. I protect people, yes, but only for my own benefit. I protect my crew, but really they were the ones who saved me. Because I... I'm lonely. No matter how many people surround me, I always feel lonely. I feel confined and trapped in darkness all the time, and I cannot escape that. I close my eyes, I fall into slumber, and I am plagued by nightmares of... of flashing lights and black eyes, a sadistic and yet masochistic smile that gives me chills... I always flinch awake. You can tell I don't get much sleep. But that's alright, as I _—_ that is, 'people' such as me _—_ do not require sleep. Not really. We aren't exactly human, and therefore we do not rely on human needs... most of the time. As we are made primarily of cells deducted from people and plants and things from the countries we are named after, we're not fully human. We're part human. I don't know what we are._

_That's why we're so bloody lonely._

_We... don't have anyone to really share our heritage with_—_not that we have much of one. Although I travel with my companions, my crew, other 'people' (or 'countries'), we... well, we shouldn't exist. We were creations. We go against God's wishes. Well, in my perspective... At least, that's what I know from religious studies. I myself do not believe in a God. I've tried, if only to have some semblance of hope, but I'm too cynical._

Other 'countries,' however, do not share my beliefs. But I'm alright with that; I'm rather conflicted anyway. But I digress. I do tend to babble occasionally. I do apologise for that. I shall wrap this up now and inform you that I am Arthur Kirkland, the captain of the airship F43RY 007, and the last remaining representation of a dead country called England.

**x.**

_**Axis Powers Hetalia **_**belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.**

So, I'm rewriting _**To The Stars**_**. I read back over it and decided I didn't like how I'd written it previously, and subsequently I'm starting it all over again—not that I wrote much to begin with—to provide it with a more sophisticated style. Since I first started this fic, my writing has developed and I can go into more detail. You might find it boring, but some of you may prefer it. I hope that most of you find it's the latter.**

And thus, here is the beginning of the rewritten version of _**To The Stars**_**! I truly hope you enjoy it. :)**

Andromeda is a spiral galaxy as well as a constellation, although they're 2.5 million lightyears far from each other. XD The constellation is named after a princess of the Greek legend of Perseus who was, incidentally, chained to a rock in other to be consumed by Cetus, a sea monster. Andromeda is also the name of a Chinese star, a constellation divided into two areas including the Black Tortoise of the North and the White Tiger of the West. I don't know about you, but I enjoy trivia. ;3

All right, before everyone enquires as to the science reality of this fic, that is unnecessary. XD This is partially scientific, but it's also mixed with supernatural. They don't really need to breathe. At least, not oxygen. They are genetically enhanced and, whilst their DNA is based upon that of a regular human's, they _**aren't**_**. Also, they do consume substances, but they can go a long while without food or drink. Moreover, injuries they conduct normally heal themselves, and fairly swiftly at that. Some things, however, require medicinal remedies... That, or magical cures. You'll see more of it later. ;)**

Arthur says, "Hsrg." You're probably thinking, "What the fuck is that?" It's Abeo language. No, it isn't real, it's fictional. When I first wrote this, Abeo was basically English spoken backwards, but that isn't so now. There are also different _**levels**_** of Abeo, and the one Arthur spoke it at its most simple form. You would pronounce it as "hisreg" and it means "shit". XD Everyone like Arthur - so the genetically modified 'humans' - are all capable of speaking it. It is, as Arthur said, ingrained thanks to the aliens's ministrations on their experiments. Think of it as you would 1066 when France forced his culture on England. Only without a battle.**

This isn't AsaKiku. They're good friends and nothing more. Sorry to disappoint. XD I just want to establish that this is a USUK story. In regards to other pairings, I'm not yet sure. But Alfred and Arthur are the primary focus as most of my fics are.

I'll go into detail on the weapons later on. There are guns and cannons, but they won't be like the ones we're familiar with. Moreover, yes, Kiku utilises a katana and Arthur also has blades. They're for close combat and since they're precise fighters, they can deflect regular bullets with their blades. However, they do also use guns often. The one Arthur used to get Kiku out of the black flames was his own creation and a supernatural one at that. Heh, battling technology (which somehow defies science) with the supernatural (which defies everything).

Personally, I don't believe in aliens, but this is fiction and can afford to be farfetched. The galaxies mentioned in this fic - or at least, most of them - are primarily nonexistent. Aha, this story is only set in 2099 and yet it's progressed so swiftly! Earth is dead. The entire Milky Way is a restricted area. Oh noes.

Sorry guys, but my Matthew is a passive aggressive badass. Actually, I'm not sorry. I can no longer write woobies even if I used to. BAMFs all the way.

The "sides" that the characters are on may be misleading. So before you peg certain people as villains, you should think about it. Moreover, there will be OCs in this. The aliens will all be original and the oceans will be personified! I'm excited about the oceans. I've got their concepts down and I just need to make their details.

So, please stay tuned if you're interested. Thank you for reading!


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